


First Dates

by tellthemstories



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Obliviousness, TV Show, i honestly have no idea what tags to put on this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-07-20 09:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16134122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellthemstories/pseuds/tellthemstories
Summary: Grantaire tends the bar in a restaurant where single people come to be set up on blind dates for a TV show. It's a pretty easy gig: he mixes drinks, chats with the singles, flirts with a few, and occasionally gets a pretty decent tip.Then Enjolras walks in.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic two years ago and posted it on Tumblr. It's now here in all it's glory with a few tweaks and some editing. 
> 
> This story is based on the uk tv show ‘first dates’, a restaurant/bar where people go to be set up on blind dates, and are filmed the whole time.

Grantaire got the job at the restaurant’s bar through a sequence of events he was far too drunk to follow, but three months later and counting and he’s still here, so it must have been one of his better alcohol-influenced ideas.

It’s an easy job, really. The maître d, Courfeyrac, greets the singles as they come in, checks their reservation, makes a charming comment to put them at ease, then leads them over to where Grantaire waits at the bar. Grantaire mixes them some liquid courage as they wait for their blind date and makes small talk; he is nothing if not full of hot hair. After a few minutes or so their date arrives, Courfeyrac brings them over, and the couple are taken off to a table in the restaurant proper. Nothing to it. 

Over the last few months Grantaire has chatted to all types of single people braving the doors of the First Dates restaurant: ones who have been single forever; ones who should  _stay_  single forever; those looking to move on from an earlier relationship; those talked into blind dating by a friend; heavily confident dudebros with muscles bigger than their heads; self-proclaimed geeks who are their own worst enemies when they start prattling on about fake gamers; nervous people with big hearts and trembling hands. 

Grantaire likes talking to them, finding out their stories, what makes them tick – even if he thinks they’re pretty deluded, looking to find love in a restaurant set up for a TV show. None of it’s real.

Then Enjolras walks in. 

Grantaire has seen plenty of hot people in the First Dates restaurant before, has even flirted with a few, confident in the knowledge that they’re not here for him, and so it doesn’t matter if he is rejected. It’s more fun, when he has no chance. He can do what he wants, say what he likes. He wouldn’t have the confidence to be this forward with beautiful people if he didn’t know that they were only interested in their blind date, and their five minutes of fame on TV.

But even so, when Enjolras walks in, Grantaire has to stop what he’s doing for a second and stare because,  _holy shit_.

His second thought, half a second later, is: there’s no way that guy is single.

Courfeyrac greets Enjolras with a familiarity that speaks of a long acquaintance. For a second Grantaire’s mind jars with the idea that this is the infamous Combeferre, Courfeyrac’s oft-talked about but never-seen partner, then Courfeyrac presses a quick kiss to each of Enjolras’s cheeks, entirely chaste. 

The waitress Grantaire’s been talking to for the last few minutes, Floreal, says something, and Grantaire makes a vague noise in response, watching as Enjolras unwinds a red scarf from his neck. His fingers are long and fine-boned, a pianist’s. Underneath his coat is a suit, well-cut and expensive.

“Grantaire,” Floreal says, to get his attention.

“Yeah?” Grantaire replies absently, not listening.

Courfeyrac is very good-looking. He has his own little group of fans who tune in to watch the show each week purely to see his easy smiles as he greets each of the single people through the doors and listen to his words of wisdom when it comes to love. He has his own fan page on Facebook. People retweet gifs of his words on love and the way he brushes his hair out of his eyes. But next to Enjolras he looks like the boy-next-door: easy, charming, warm.

In comparison, Enjolras is sharp, arresting, beautiful. 

As usual, Courfeyrac leads Enjolras towards the bar. Enjolras has arrived first, before his date. He strides with a  _purpose_ , like he’s going into battle, not on a date. He wears a small frown; it’s obvious he doesn’t exactly want to be here. Which is cool, Grantaire has put at ease many people dubious about their first dates.

He’s just never had to reassure someone so impossibly stunning before.

Floreal has given up on getting a reply from him altogether, standing with her elbow resting on the bar surface and her chin cupped in the palm of her hand. Her too-intelligent brown eyes are focused on Enjolras. “Hm,” she says. 

“Hm?” Grantaire echoes, unable to tear his eyes away from the approaching model. “What does that mean?”

Floreal tilts her head to look back at him, expression unreadable. “Oh, now you’re paying attention to me?”

Before Grantaire gets time to respond, Courfeyrac and Enjolras are within earshot. Behind them, one of the camera men follows, along with one of the large microphone things. Grantaire never did learn the technical name of all the stuff. After a while you get used to it, forget the crew is even there. 

“Grantaire, this is Enjolras,” says Courfeyrac. “Enjolras, this is Grantaire. Grantaire will look after you whilst you wait for your date.”

Grantaire gives the dumbest wave of his life. He has never waved at a customer before. Courfeyrac arches an eyebrow at him as if to say ‘what the fuck’.

Grantaire clears his throat. “Hey.”

“Hey,” replies Enjolras.

Courfeyrac places a hand on Enjolras’s shoulder, a slight squeeze, and breathes, “Relax,” too low for the camera crew to hear. Then he’s off back to his post at the door, waiting for the next single person to arrive. 

There’s an awkward pause where Enjolras just stands there and Grantaire just watches him stand there. 

“Well,” says Floreal, “As fascinating as this silence is, I have a table to serve.” She picks up her drinks tray from the top of the bar and turns away, leaving the two of them alone.

Grantaire winces and Enjolras's brows draw together into a frown. He looks like he’s working his way through a problem, not quite sure what answer he’s going to find. Like he's a second away from bolting, trying to work out his fight or flight response. It happens a lot, when singles get here, like ordering a drink from Grantaire suddenly makes it all _real_ and not just a TV show they signed up to for a laugh. 

Grantaire slides a coaster across the bar and says, “So, what’ll you have?”

Enjolras seems to come to some sort of decision then, his brow smoothing, though still unreadable, and moves to sit on the nearest bar stool. “The strongest thing you have.” One of his hands rests on the surface of the bar, there’s a simple silver ring on one of his fingers. 

That, Grantaire can do. “Coming up.”

He decides to stick to simple; this guy looks like old money, the type of person who actually tastes wine before deciding on a bottle, rather than just grabbing the cheapest and strongest option from the bottom shelf, like Grantaire. 

His fingers feel clumsy and heavy as he pours the whiskey over ice. “So, Courfeyrac bullied you into this?”

Enjolras quirks an eyebrow at him. There’s the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Something like that.”

“Surprised you held out this long,” Grantaire replies, placing the glass tumbler down on the coaster. “He can be very… persuasive.” Not exactly the adjective he wants to use, but for all he knows Enjolras and Courfeyrac are die-hard best friends. Better not to piss off the customer by insulting his companions. 

“Insistently annoying, you mean,” Enjolras interprets, and picks up the whiskey.

Grantaire feels himself flush slightly as he watches Enjolras knock back two thirds of the glass. His eyes trail the long line of Enjolras’s throat, then imagine trailing it with his teeth, instead. 

“You said it, not me,” he says, as Enjolras puts the glass down. “So where’s he been hiding you?” You think Courfeyrac would have the decency to drop it into conversation:  _hi, Grantaire, having a good day? By the way, my best friend is a super model._

Maybe not.

“What?” asks Enjolras, looking startled.

Shit. “Well, I mean, he’s never mentioned you? At least, I don’t think he has. He talks about Combeferre, when his guard is down - or he's had a drink. Mostly it's just about how great he is. It's sickeningly sweet.”

Enjolras really smiles now, fond and affectionate. It makes something warm in Grantaire’s chest. He tries desperately to smother the feeling as Enjolras says, “I can imagine,” and finishes off what’s left of his whiskey. “They’re happy together. I think they want the same for me.”

“And, what, you can’t be happy and single?" 

Enjolras looks down at his glass as it’s filled. "I don’t know. I guess I just haven’t met the right guy.” He glances up then, an entirely casual movement, but when his eyes meet Grantaire’s it makes something stutter in his chest.

So Enjolras likes guys, then. Not that it will have any effect on Grantaire’s night. His job is to put Enjolras at ease, to get him ready for his  _real_ date. Not to entertain impossible what-ifs. And so he says, “Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place.”

For a second they stare at each other, and then Enjolras laughs. Grantaire can’t help it, he does too. 

“Sorry,” says Grantaire, “I tried to be sincere but  _seriously._  Your friends want you to be happy so they sign you up for a blind dating TV show?”

“Yeah,” replies Enjolras, still smiling. “Some friends, right?”

“Enjolras.” Grantaire hadn’t even noticed Courfeyrac approaching, now he wishes he had. At Courfeyrac’s side is a tall guy with glasses, dirty-blond hair and an undercut. He has that effortless casual look going on, chic librarian. He looks a little nervous, but smiles when he sees Enjolras. 

Enjolras’s eyes move to Courfeyrac’s for a second, some sort of question Grantaire can’t decipher, then he’s standing up from the bar stool. He holds out a hand in greeting and the other man shakes it, firm. He looks a lot more put-together than Grantaire, the type of person who actually has his life together. The camera crew move closer to catch the shots as he and Enjolras exchange names. Courfeyrac leads them away to one of the tables in the restaurant proper and makes a show of pulling out both of their chairs. 

Grantaire does  _not_ spend his evening watching how their date is going. 

The night goes on and more singles come and go. Some leave together with their dates, others say hasty goodbyes and dive into the taxis outdoors alone. Numbers are exchanged, promises to meet again are made, there is even an actual kiss between one couple. 

Grantaire pops out at one point for a cigarette on one of his breaks, is startled when he finds a familiar person outside doing the same.

“How goes it?” he asks, “Found the love of your life?”

Enjolras arches an eyebrow at him. In the light of the nearest street lamp his cheekbones look even sharper, his hair burned gold. He is stupidly pretty. He exhales smoke. “He’s… nice.”

Grantaire laughs. “Oh, wow.  _Wow_.” Is there a more damning description?

Enjolras scowls at him. “Don’t. He is nice, really. Genuine, funny, he works hard. Says all the right things, we have plenty in common.”

“But he doesn’t make you tingle?”

The look Enjolras gives him could cut diamonds.

“Dude,” says Grantaire, “So you don’t like him that way, so what? You think you’re the first person to go on a date and not feel any chemistry? Happens to us all. Just smile and enjoy the rest of your night and go home after, safe in the knowledge you’ll never have to see him again.”

Enjolras hums in response, not quite agreement.

Grantaire shrugs, and flicks ash into the wind. “You can always try again. It’s called first date _s_ , right? Plural.”

Enjolras takes a drag of his cigarette as he thinks it over. Cars pass in the night. For once, there are no cameras around; it feels almost as if they are the only two people in the world. He stubs his cigarette out before saying, "I don’t think nice is my type.”

“Oh?” says Grantaire. 

Enjolras grins. There’s nothing _nice_ about it at all. “Doesn’t mean I can’t be charming.” He straightens his tie, which has been fighting with gravity all night, refusing to stay knotted at his neck. “Enjoy your break.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire replies, confused, and watches as Enjolras walks back into the restaurant. 

Grantaire spends the rest of the night thinking about what Enjolras said. When Enjolras and his date are long gone - numbers exchanged, a polite hug, separate taxis - Grantaire cleans own the bar and then waits at the door for Floreal, as she fastens the buttons on her coat with one hand and texts her banker boyfriend with the other.

"Am I nice?“ he asks her, holding the door open. 

Floreal snorts. "No.” She hits send on her message and looks up from the phone screen as she asks, “Why?”

“No reason.”

\- - - 

He tries not to read into it then, the following week, when Enjolras returns to First Dates restaurant. 

After all, Grantaire’s just the bartender.


	2. Chapter 2

Enjolras has his own Twitter hashtag. 

Not even five minutes after his first appearance on screen, the hashtag #hotblond appears in the First Dates tag. When his date doesn’t go too well, and after the subsequent awkward after-dinner interview, it morphs into #gethotblondlaid, or so Floreal tells Grantaire, the day after the episode airs.

“You actually watch this shit?” Grantaire asks in response, pretending he doesn’t really care (because he  _doesn’t_ , he met the guy once and they spoke for, like, two minutes) by stacking glasses on the shelves behind the bar. 

“Of course I do,” she replies. “I like to see how spectacularly some people fail. Tips for what not to do on a date.”

“You have a boyfriend.”

“That doesn’t mean we don’t go on dates.”

Grantaire tries to imagine Floreal on a date with her boyfriend, a hot-shot banker in the city, and cannot imagine it to be a very thrilling experience - but he’s wise enough not to say so to her face. Instead, he says, “No Netflix and chill?”

“Oh there’s plenty of Netflix and chill.”

“My god why did I even ask.”

Floreal smiles sweetly at him, leaning forwards on the bar, settling in like she's going to tell him all the things he wished he never knew, but he’s managed to distract her from the topic of Enjolras, so it’s worth it. 

Enjolras, who Grantaire tries not to think about for the next few days and ends up thinking about all the time anyway. Plenty of other hot people come through the doors of the First Dates restaurant in the following days, but if he’s honest, none can hold a candle to Enjolras. They’re still interesting to talk to (well, most of them are, a couple are absolute tools) but, again, they’re not him. 

The hashtag doesn’t disappear, keeps doing the rounds on Twitter, so Grantaire is not entirely surprised when Enjolras returns to the First Dates restaurant the following week, though he _is_ surprised when his heart does this weird little clench thing in his chest. 

He's wearing the red scarf again. Grantaire tries not to smile as he busies himself with filling a drinks order for one of the tables, and when he looks up again Enjolras has already seated himself at the bar. Courfeyrac stands with him, chatting idly, and smiles when Grantaire heads over to their end of the bar.

“Hey, hotblond,” Grantaire greets, putting down a glass of whiskey in front of Enjolras. 

Enjolras scowls at the nickname. Courfeyrac makes a sound. “And hotbrunette,” Grantaire amends. “Though I’m sure Combeferre has much more interesting names for you.”

Courfeyrac just grins at that, and doesn’t reply. He is frustrating, with how little he says about his other half. Grantaire wants to know  _everything —_ just think of the money he could make, selling the sordid details to the magazines. He could afford the top shelf wine. 

“There was a time he wanted to be called Courfeyrad,” Enjolras says, giving Grantaire reason to look at him. “Dark times.”

“Hey,” says Courfeyrac. “In my defence I was thirteen at the time.”

“There is no defence for Courfeyrad.”

“Better than Courfeylad?” Grantaire suggests, and is surprised when Enjolras laughs softly. He has a nice laugh. “Has he ever suggested going for a Cheeky Nandos?”

“I would  _never_ ,” Courfeyrac says, looking honestly offended, a hand pressed against his chest, but the corners of his lips are pulling up like he wants to smile. Just then, the door to the restaurant opens as a new single customer walks in. Courfeyrac glances back and then excuses himself, leaving Enjolras and Grantaire alone. 

“So,” says Grantaire, “How’s fame treating you?”

Enjolras gives him a flat look. “Funny. I don’t think it really counts as fame, if people only want to get you laid because you can’t, apparently, do it yourself.” He curls his hand around the tumbler of whiskey and takes a drink.

Somehow Grantaire manages not to choke out,  _“You can’t get laid? You?”_ and instead says, in a much more controlled voice as he watches the line of Enjolras's throat as he swallows, “Hey, it could be worse. The tag could be #letuglyblonddiealone.”

Enjolras’s eyebrows rise. “Ugly?” For a moment, Grantaire has the horrible feeling that he’s offended him, that Enjolras is actually fully aware of his looks and conceited because of them, but then Enjolras says, in a fierce voice worthy of arguing a case in court, not discussing twitter hashtags in a bar, “Beauty is a social construct, mass-marketed and sold to us by corporations with agendas. It is damaging to young children who grow up thinking there’s only one way to look, some ideal, and that if they don’t reach it–”

“Woah,” Grantaire says, “Hold up there. Are you saying that beauty doesn’t exist?”

“I’m saying it’s not a real thing, that we’re sold the idea beauty is one thing or another, whatever sells the most products. Usually tall, thin, white, blue-eyed, flawless skin, when actually, the percentage of the population who–”

“Wow,” says Grantaire, “Have you, like, looked in a mirror recently?”

That brings Enjolras up short. “What?”

Grantaire waves a hand in his general direction. “I mean, look at all of - this. It’s easy for you to say beauty doesn’t mean anything when you look like a fucking supermodel with your long legs and blond hair and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen and even your  _hands—_ ”

“Enjolras,” says Courfeyrac, “I’d like you to meet your date.”

Grantaire may have lost his point somewhere in that rant. Enjolras is looking at him in surprise, mouth slightly open (even his teeth are perfect and white, what the  _fuck_ ), and then slowly, he seems to get a hold of himself and turns to face his date. 

This time the man is less well-dressed, more casual. Less hipster librarian and more regular working-man. He has ginger hair, a splash of freckles across his nose and an easy smile. “Feuilly,” he says, introducing himself, and holds out a hand for Enjolras to shake. Enjolras returns the smile as he shakes Feuilly’s hand and glances down at his own hand as he pulls it away, thoughtful. 

Then the cameras are zooming in and he’s being steered away with Feuilly to a table, and Grantaire is once again alone at the bar. This time he tries to take a leaf out of Floreal’s book, watching the dates in the restaurant itself - though if he’s honest, he’s mostly just watching Enjolras and Feuilly. 

Only there's no sign of a failed date or any tips for what not to do: they seem to be getting on well. Really well. It’s obvious from the way their conversation never falters, how neither of them reach for their phones as a distraction. They take longer over their meal than they should, too busy talking to eat everything whilst it’s still hot. 

Over at the door by his post Courfeyrac beams, and sends a quick text on his phone. 

It’s a genuine accident when Grantaire ends up speaking to Enjolras again: they’re two staff members down and busier than expected tonight, so when Louison asks him to start taking drinks to tables rather than waiting for the servers to come and collect, Grantaire says yes with minimal good-natured grumping.  

It’s easy enough to take the drinks out to the tables after he’s made them, balancing them on a thick heavy black tray they give him. He was actually a cater-waiter once, for his sins, serving top-shelf wine at functions to people who looked like Enjolras. He realises this means he’ll be in the background of more than one shot, as he passes the camera crew and sound technicians, but figures no one will really notice him. 

He's just dropping off two beers at one table, followed by a cocktail and glass of water at another, then turns and realises he’s right by Enjolras’s table. He falters, and in that moment Enjolras glances up and spots him. He's currently sat alone; Feuilly must have excused himself to go to the toilet. 

“Oh, hey,” says Enjolras. 

“Hey,” Grantaire replies, balancing the serving tray up in the air by his shoulder. “How’s it going?”

“Great,” Enjolras says, genuinely enthusiastic. His eyes light up. “Nice. Feuilly is – he’s wonderful. He’s taking part in those regeneration projects across town, re-purposing derelict land. He’s working with local childcare and foster homes, getting kids involved in the project, so they can help make their own spaces.”

“Uh-huh,” Grantaire replies. He can’t remember the last time he was involved in anything, or had a purpose. It never bothered him before but now, hearing about Feuilly’s virtues, it gnaws.

“It’s admirable,” Enjolras says. “Do you think it’s weird if I ask if I can be involved?”

“Um.”

“It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“Well, you did only meet him an hour ago.”

“Is that all it’s been? It feels like longer.”  _Like we’ve known each other our whole lives_ , Grantaire’s mind supplies bitterly. 

“Well,” he says, shifting his grip on his tray, “I have to go. Have, uh, fun.” Enjolras frowns at him, but Grantaire doesn’t stick around, stepping past a nearby camera as he moves between the tables on the way to the bar, his sanctuary. An island. 

He’s careful to make sure he doesn’t go near Enjolras’s table again for the rest of the night, letting those drinks be taken by other servers. He finds himself distracted, his thoughts far away, and only really snaps out of it when two men come in together: Joly and Bossuet. At first, Grantaire thinks that one of them is here to be set up on a date and the other is here for moral support - it wouldn't be the first time - and then Joly admits he's nervous and Bossuet reassures him with a kiss that is definitely not chaste.

"Wow," says Grantaire. "Okay."

They regale him with puns and anecdotes at the bar, somehow managing to cheer him right back up, getting his mind off of Enjolras and Feuilly and their  _wonderful_ date. Then Bossuet spills his drink over their date, Musichetta, when she arrives, when he gets to his feet enthusiastically and forgets that he has elbows. 

Musichetta, to her credit, takes it in her stride, and the three of them bundle into a taxi outside without ever sitting down at a table for their date, Joly already pulling off his top to offer it gallantly to her. 

Grantaire doesn’t see Feuilly and Enjolras leave, but he assumes that they both go together.

He’s surprised, then, when the following week Enjolras returns to the First Dates restaurant. It must show on his face, because Enjolras smiles as he sits down on a bar stool opposite him and says, “I told you, I don’t like nice.”

“Oh,” says Grantaire, and feels a little like he can’t breathe.

“Now,” says Enjolras, leaning forwards, his arms crossed on the surface of the bar. “I’ve been thinking about what you said last week…”


	3. Chapter 3

“Do I believe in love?” asks Enjolras. He pauses as he considers the question, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Grantaire finally caved and is watching Enjolras’s first appearance on First Dates, almost a month ago now. In his living room, Grantaire sits wearing an extremely sexy over-sized green hoodie and eating dry cereal from a bowl with his fork. On screen, Enjolras looks incredibly smart in the suit Grantaire now knows he was wearing because he’d just come from his job as an associate at a law firm. 

“I believe other people have found it,” Enjolras says. “My best friends, for example. As for me?” he laughs, soft, and glances slightly away from the camera. He's tapping the fingers of one hand on his knee, restless. “I think I’m hard to take. My friends come first, they’re my family; people find that hard to accept. I care a lot about my job, about what I do. I guess you’d say I’m… passionate. It’s difficult to find someone who isn’t put off by that.”

He shrugs, and looks back at the camera, straight to where Grantaire sits in the living room of his shitty apartment. “But who knows? Maybe I just haven’t met the right person yet.”

\- - - 

It’s become a bit of a  _thing_ , Enjolras appearing in the First Dates restaurant. 

After his first date (one which was doomed from the start, Enjolras once told Grantaire, because Courfeyrac basically set him up with a carbon copy of Combeferre), and his second date with Feuilly (who has since become one of Enjolras’s closest friends), the whole  _nation_  seems to have made it their mission to find him a successful first date.

“Last night was the worst one yet,” Enjolras says, sitting down at the bar as Grantaire cleans it down early one morning. This has become a thing, too: Enjolras returning the night after his dates, for what Grantaire has come to refer to as a debrief. 

Grantaire now knows several things about Enjolras’s turn-offs:

  1. Using the word ‘friendzone’ un-ironically
  2. Not tipping the staff
  3. Meninists
  4. Man buns
  5. And, the worst of all: when his dates are _nice_



He knows much less about what it turns him on, but then neither does the rest of the nation. The only constants about Enjolras are his red scarf, which he wears every time he comes back for a date; that he’s best friends with Courfeyrac and always greets him with a kiss on the cheek; and that he always arrives first, before his date, and chats to Grantaire at the bar. 

“Oh?” says Grantaire. Just over Enjolras’s shoulder he can see Floreal and Courfeyrac gossiping by the front door. Floreal has taken to giving Grantaire this  _look_ , whenever Enjolras is around. 

“I’m starting to think there really isn’t anyone.”

“Why do you keep coming back, then?” Grantaire asks, genuinely curious, and not just because he wishes it was because of him. His ridiculous crush on Enjolras has only continued to grow since that first meeting.

“For the excellent drinks, clearly,” Enjolras drawls. 

Grantaire hits his arm with the end of his cleaning rag. “Don’t mock my mixing skills.”

“It’s all Combeferre’s fault,” Enjolras says, “Or, well, something like it. Courfeyrac was the one who originally wanted me to find someone, but now Combeferre thinks there’s a possibility too. I have  _no_ idea why he thinks that, though, considering how all my dates have gone so far.”

“Maybe he just likes watching you squirm on national TV.”

Enjolras flicks a drink coaster at him. “Combeferre’s got good sense. If he believes in something, it’s usually right. So here I am. Well, here I was,” he corrects, as he catches sight of his watch on his wrist. “I’ve got to get to work. See you next week?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire replies. “Same time, same place, new date.”

Enjolras smiles as he leaves, and is swiftly replaced by Floreal, who leans against the bar, watching him watching Enjolras leave, and says, “Wow, you’re fucked.”

\- - - 

Grantaire really is; it’s hard enough knowing that he won’t ever have Enjolras, but watching him go on dates is even worse. On the one hand he wants them to go well - he’s not selfish enough to wish a bad time on other people - but there’s a horrible twist in his stomach whenever he sees Enjolras laugh at someone else’s jokes or they manage to make him smile. He starts to look forwards to their debriefs and the conversations they have before Enjolras goes on his dates, brief moments where Grantaire can pretend he's more than just the bartender. 

He discovers a few weeks in that they’re filming his conversations with Enjolras too, when different people seem to recognise him when they come for a drink before their own dates. It’s strange at first, when they greet him by name and talk to him as if they actually know him, but he gets used to it, even fielding a few questions about what he himself thinks Enjolras is looking for in a partner. 

“Well, they’ve got to be a career person,” he tells one, “You know, ‘cause he’s so focused on work. They’d understand.”

“A guy, obviously,” he tells another.

“Likes wearing green,” he says one day in December, “Because then it will be super festive with his red scarf.”

Whilst admiring Enjolras from afar: “Someone who can appreciate those cheekbones.”

"The complete opposite of whoever Courfeyrac suggests," when Courfeyrac is clearly within earshot. 

One time he finds himself saying, “A dog person. Enjolras is  _clearly_  a cat person, so the thought amuses me, and we can’t always get what we want.”

\- - - 

“Hello.”

Grantaire looks up, startled. It’s the week before Christmas and they’re getting very busy. Tasteful decorations are up everywhere and most people are in a festive mood. Everyone seems happier than usual and more relaxed, willing to enjoy the holiday season. It does mean, however, that they’re busier than usual, as couples stay longer and order more drinks. The mulled wine is going down a treat, even if it's a pain to heat up to the right temperature. 

When Grantaire looks up from the mulled wine to the man stood on the other side of the bar, his eyes widen. He’s - well, he’s hot. Not Enjolras levels of hot, but there’s definitely something there, in an effortless sort of way. Grantaire has never found a hipster attractive before, but hot  _damn_ if he did. 

“Hi,” Grantaire replies, a beat too late for it to sound normal. 

The man smiles, and pushes his glasses up his nose from where they’ve slightly slipped. “I’m here to take you on a date.”

“What,” says Grantaire because, seriously,  _what_. 

“I decided it was time I stepped in,” the man says, which makes even less sense. “So if you don’t mind?” he gestures to the open side of the bar for Grantaire to step out. 

Grantaire, still a little stunned, glances around. One of the cameras is focused directly on him.  _What the fuck_. Just behind the camera he can see Floreal, grinning across at him with a quirked eyebrow as if to say ‘well?’ Seeing her confidence makes Grantaire stubborn, which in this context makes him unwilling to make an idiot of himself. He takes a step forwards, and then moves out from behind the bar. 

The man smiles at him, and places a hand on the small of Grantaire’s back to guide him towards a table. Where the hell is Courfeyrac? Is he part of this ambush? Why is no one stopping it?

“Look, seriously, I’m flattered,” Grantaire says, “But I’m working… I’m supposed to be on the bar.”

“Don’t worry about that,” says the man. “It’s all in hand.”

Grantaire can do nothing but sit, when they finally arrive at the table. His date doesn’t do the same and instead steps back. _Is he having second thoughts already?_ Grantaire’s mind shrieks, close to hysteria. Oh  _God_ , how is this his life. 

“I don’t even know your name,” he says to his date.

“Combeferre,” the man says, and walks away, leaving Grantaire at the date table by himself with one of the camera crew. 

“What,” says Grantaire. 

Across the restaurant, Combeferre steps behind the bar like he’s been doing it his whole life and begins serving a little old lady who has just arrived for her own date. Grantaire wants to stare some more - it’s the famed Combeferre, after all - but then if Combeferre isn’t his date, who is? Why has he been left at a table by himself? Is this some sort of joke?

Grantaire looks around for Floreal, who has conveniently disappeared, and consequently doesn’t notice two people approaching his table. The camera crew do, though. They zoom right in on Courfeyrac and the man he’s bringing over as Grantaire’s date. 

In fact, the whole restaurant notices. 

It’s the sudden hush and the ripple of anticipation that runs through the restaurant which catches Grantaire’s attention. He turns to see what everyone is looking at, and finds himself staring up at a familiar face. 

“Hey,” says Courfeyrac. “Grantaire, I’d like you to meet Enjolras. Enjolras, this is Grantaire. He’ll be your date for the evening.”

“Hi,” says Enjolras. He looks a little nervous. His tie is undone as usual, loose around his neck. He holds his suit jacket in one hand. 

“ _What_ ,” says Grantaire. 


	4. Chapter 4

“Hey,” says Grantaire, sitting down.

He’s restless, tapping the fingers of one hand against his knee; he’s not used to being in the interview room. He glances around behind him and spots the huge crimson heart on the wall. Turning back to look at the guy behind the camera, he says, “Nice decor.”

“Thanks,” says Bahorel, as he makes some last-minute adjustments to the camera. When he straightens, he catches sight of Grantaire’s restless hand and says, “You alright?”

“Not really,” says Grantaire, and makes his hand still by trapping it between his knees. “So, how does this work?”

“Well,” says Bahorel, “I ask a question, and you answer. Usually there’s some blushing and embarrassed smiles. It’s pretty awkward for everyone involved. Let’s get started?”

“Sure,” says Grantaire, and breathes out slowly. “Okay.” He shifts in his seat, looks straight at the camera, and starts talking. 

\- - - 

“Hi,” says Enjolras. He looks a little nervous. His tie is undone as usual, loose around his neck. He holds his suit jacket in one hand. 

“ _What_ ,” says Grantaire.

Enjolras drapes his jacket over the arm of one of the chairs and makes a move to sit down. This can’t be happening. Grantaire watches him, feeling like he’s watching one of the episodes on screen, disassociating; this isn’t happening to him. 

Courfeyrac busies himself pouring them both a glass of water from the jug already on their table. “Calm down,” he says, under his breath to Grantaire. “You’ll be fine.”

“You’re fucking dead,” Grantaire replies under his breath, then smiles sweetly up at him. 

Enjolras arches an eyebrow at the exchange, unable to hear over the noise of the restaurant. 

Courfeyrac just meets Grantaire smile-for-smile and says, “Your waitress today will be Floreal. She’ll be with you soon.” Then he steps away from the table and is gone before Grantaire can reach out and throttle him. 

Over at the bar Combeferre has rolled his shirt sleeves up. He has tattoos twisting around his forearms, brightly-coloured and well-designed. He’s calm and present in a steady way, not at all the kind of person Grantaire would have put Courfeyrac with.

But then Combeferre obviously had a hand in all of this, so he and Courfeyrac both have awful personalities and deserve each other.

“So,” says Enjolras.

Grantaire feels what little confidence he has left flee in an instant. He tenses, and has to  _make_  himself look at Enjolras. As he does so, he catches sight of Enjolras’s fingers, twisting his silver ring around his finger, a compulsive movement he’s probably not even aware of.

Enjolras is nervous.

“You’re nervous,” Grantaire says. “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” asks Enjolras.

“No,” says Grantaire, his nerves fading in the face of his curiosity. Enjolras is usually so focused and purposeful when Grantaire sees him that it’s like seeing another person entirely. A thought occurs to him. “Do _I_ make you nervous?” He can only ask the question because it’s so absurd. How could Enjolras be nervous around  _him_?

Then Enjolras says, “You make me  _something_.”

Grantaire’s heart jumps at the words. 

He looks at Enjolras, unable to form a reply, and Enjolras looks back. It’s different to when they talk at the bar. Grantaire is always busy making drinks, filling orders. He never gets time to just stand there and _look_ , to appreciate, and now he finally has the time he can’t look away. 

Enjolras is stupid pretty, and does ridiculous things to Grantaire’s common sense. He makes him think that there’s a chance, when Grantaire knows there really, absolutely isn’t. 

“How’d Combeferre talk you into this?” Grantaire asks.

“He didn’t,” Enjolras replies, which makes no sense, then he explains: “He just took charge.”

Grantaire arches an eyebrow. “Does that happen often?”

“He often knows me better than myself,” Enjolras says, which gives Grantaire hope, then follows it up with, “But not always.” He glances across to where Combeferre stands behind the bar, then back to Grantaire. “I’m reserving judgement.”

“Oh, are you?” Grantaire says, suddenly more confident than he feels; he can’t help it, not when Enjolras looks so calm unruffled. “So you’re waiting for me to win you over?”

Enjolras’s answering grin says Grantaire’s going to have to work for this. “Something like that.”

“And what if I don’t want to?” Grantaire asks, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on the table. “What if I got ambushed into going on this date and have no interest in dating you?”

Enjolras crosses his arms as he leans back in his chair. “Are you saying I’m not an eligible bachelor?”

“Well,” says Grantaire, “You have been on _multiple_  first dates.”

Enjolras arches an eyebrow at him as if to say  _oh really?_ and for a brief second Grantaire thinks he’s stepped too far. But then Enjolras says, “Maybe my standards are just too high.”

“Or maybe you’re a really awful date.”

\- - - 

When Floreal arrives to ask if they’d like something to drink, somehow Grantaire resists saying ‘God, yes, please.’ He opens his mouth to ask for the strongest stuff he knows they have on one of the top shelves, when Enjolras says, “Do you have a nice Chianti?”

‘I fucking knew it,’ Grantaire also doesn’t say. Enjolras  _knows_  wine. Rather than give his own suggestion, seeing as he’s the bartender and therefore also knows wine, Grantaire lets Floreal deal with it. Serves her right for being in on this whole date fiasco.

Unfortunately, Floreal takes it in her stride and talks in a low voice with Enjolras, consulting on wines. Eventually she points to one on the list and he nods, satisfied. Then, as one, they turn to look at Grantaire, whose mind goes instantly blank and so he just says, “Vodka over ice.”

There is an awkward moment of silence broke only when Floreal clears her throat and says, “Um, are you–”

“You heard me,” Grantaire replies, looking anywhere but at Enjolras. See this, this is why Grantaire doesn’t  _go_  on dates, and just works behind the bar. He has no brain-to-mouth filter.

“Sure." Floreal flips her notebook shut. “I’ll be back in a moment to take your food order.”

She leaves the table then with a pointed look at Grantaire which he very studiously ignores. Enjolras arches an eyebrow at him, probably thinking about how awkward it is that Grantaire didn’t just say he’d share the wine with him, like normal people do on a date, instead of asking for  _straight vodka_.

Worst of all, the cameras are rolling and filming his utter failure at life. Grantaire’s handing in his notice tomorrow.

“So,” he says, trying to fill the silence, “Come here often?”

\- - - 

“What the hell, Grantaire?” asks Bahorel. 

“I don’t even know!” Grantaire replies with a groan, leaning forwards to put his head in his hands. “I think I just legitimately forgot how human beings act around each other.”

“No shit.”

Closing his eyes doesn’t help; all Grantaire can see is Enjolras’s stunned expression. Like he literally couldn’t believe Grantaire had asked such a stupid question. 

“Can you burn the tapes?” Grantaire asks, spreading his fingers to look through them up at Bahorel. “Are tapes even a thing? What do they record episodes on?”

“Sorry mate,” Bahorel says. “Bad dates make good tv.”

\- - - 

But it’s not a bad date. It’s - surprisingly good. The conversation is easy, they get along fine. Enjolras is equal parts charming and witty with a wicked sense of humour. With each moment, Grantaire can feel himself liking him even more, falling more and more for this supermodel of a human being with a social conscious of all things. 

And yet it just feels like there’s something missing. 

After their main course, Enjolras excuses himself to the toilet, and Grantaire takes the opportunity to dart outside for a cigarette. 

The fresh air outside is a relief, making him feel less like his every move is being scrutinised. He takes several deep breaths with his eyes closed, just appreciating the cold air, before opening them again and lighting a cigarette. 

The first inhalation stills his nerves, the second one begins to calm them. 

On the third he closes his eyes again, and when he opens them Enjolras is stood in front of him. “Jesus _fuck_.”

Enjolras’s lips quirk. “Not quite.”

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Grantaire demands, hitting his chest as he coughs out smoke. "I thought you were–”

“When are you going to stop acting?” Enjolras asks, over him.

“What?”

“You’re not nice,” Enjolras says. He pushes his hands into his trouser pockets, looking as casual as Grantaire has ever seen him, in a suit. His top two shirt buttons are undone, with no tie at all in sight. “I saw you glaring at all of my dates.”

“I did  _not_ –”

“Not to mention smiling when I told you there weren’t going to be second dates.”

“Lies,” Grantaire says, panicking internally. Shit, shit, shit. “I did no such thing.”

Enjolras steps forwards, closing the distance between them. “You’re an awful liar,” he says. “You think I would have gone along with this if I wanted to have a nice time?” Enjolras says  _nice_  the way most people say  _boring_. 

That makes Grantaire frown. “I thought Combeferre ambushed you.” He flicks ash from his cigarette. “ _I_ was ambushed.”

“Oh, Combeferre _thinks_ he ambushed me,” says Enjolras. “Sometimes it’s worth letting him think he has the upperhand.”

Grantaire looks at him anew. This is not the Enjolras who has been on the date with him for the last hour, or even the charming young man who has become the nation's favourite single. This is the man who looked at Grantaire and said _I don’t think nice is my type._

“If I wanted a good time,” says Enjolras, “I’d have got Courfeyrac to set me up again with Feuilly.”

Then he reaches out and takes the cigarette from Grantaire without asking. Their fingers brush as he takes it, Grantaire watches Enjolras's hands as he lifts it to his mouth to take a drag, watches his lips purse, inhale.

“I want to date someone who excites me,” says Enjolras. “Someone who isn’t afraid to argue with me if they don’t agree. I don’t want wine and a nice meal and good conversation. I’ve _tried_  that. It’s not for me.”

“I don’t think you really know what you’re asking for,” says Grantaire, thinking about the sort of dates he usually goes on, the places he ends up in, the wrong side of the beds he wakes up on. 

He’s never done that, with someone who makes his heart clench like Enjolras does. 

Grantaire does easy flings, he does single nights. He doesn’t date people and give them chance to get to know him. If he gives people time to get to know him, he knows that they will find him wanting. 

But then, Enjolras knows him already. They’ve known each other for weeks. 

“I know exactly what I’m asking for,” Enjolras says. 

“I’m _really_ not good enough for you,” Grantaire says. His voice sounds weak, even to his own ears. 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” says Enjolras, holding the cigarette out to him again. 

Grantaire takes it back and takes another drag, looking past Enjolras to where Courfeyrac is being painfully obvious in his attempts to try and make it look like he’s not watching them from just inside the glass doorway to the First Dates restaurant.

It’s not that Enjolras isn’t dateable, thinks Grantaire. It’s that he’s been looking in all the wrong places. 

“Alright,” he says, and stubs his cigarette out on the wall. He reaches out to take Enjolras’s hand, finding it already waiting. Their fingers entwine as Grantaire holds up his free hand to signal one of the nearby waiting taxis. 

In the restaurant, Courfeyrac panics, stepping forwards as if he’s about to come out of the door after them. 

Grantaire pulls the taxi door open and steps inside after Enjolras, giving directions to the driver as Enjolras uses their joined hands to pull him down to sit on the seat next to him. 

The cameras don’t follow them on their date – and for that, Grantaire is extremely glad. He’s not sure he wants the world to see what he’s like when he’s really had a drink, or how he dances in a club when the music is thrumming through his veins.

(He’s  _really_ glad the cameras aren’t around to film what comes after, the taxi home, Enjolras inviting himself in for coffee then kissing Grantaire up against the fridge. Or Grantaire forgetting his words when they make it to the bedroom, and Enjolras finally unbuttons the rest of his shirt.) 

(He wouldn’t mind footage of Enjolras’s bed-head and sleepy morning eyes, when he’d woken up and just wanted to snuggle further into his duvet the next day, but that image is private, just for him.)

\- - - 

“Hey.” Enjolras comes into the interview room from behind Grantaire and sits down at the empty chair next to him. 

Grantaire glances across at him. “Hey.”

Enjolras quirks an eyebrow at him, then turns to face the camera. “So.”

“How did it go?” Bahorel asks. He already asked the same question of Grantaire, before Enjolras came into the room. Grantaire had declined to answer, wanting to hear Enjolras’s reply first. 

Enjolras leans back in his chair after the question, and seems to think the question over for a few seconds before saying, “It was alright, I guess.” He aims for casual but the soft blush to his cheeks says he misses by about a mile.

Bahorel laughs softly. “Will you two see each other again?”

Grantaire looks over at Enjolras, finds him already looking back. This is always the most awkward part in the post-date interviews. No one ever wants to say yes when their date says no. 

\- - - 

They don’t show Enjolras and Grantaire’s date on the final episode of the season. 

Instead, they show a selection of clips from the past few months:

Enjolras’s first entrance into the restaurant, only this time it cuts to Grantaire’s expression as he stands at the bar, looking utterly stunned; Enjolras returning that first time, looking nervous and unsure but then smiling, when he sees Grantaire behind the bar again; Grantaire saying something which makes Enjolras laugh, putting him at ease. 

Most of the scenes he recognises - their conversations at the bar between Enjolras’s dates, his chat with Enjolras when he’d been on his date with Feuilly - but there are others, things he missed. 

Grantaire laughing at the bar with a guy who came in for a date, as Enjolras watches from a table across the room, twisting his ring around his finger, expression unreadable. 

Enjolras coming into the restaurant on one of Grantaire’s days off, then looking genuinely disappointed not to find him there. 

When Courfeyrac brings Enjolras over to Grantaire’s table for their ‘date’, Enjolras takes a moment to compose himself, to take a breath and check himself out in the mirror. 

Their part of the episode ends with them getting into the taxi and cuts then to Floreal, Combeferre and Courfeyrac at the bar in the restaurant talking furiously about what their departure might mean. After that the episode cuts to their post-date interview, only in Enjolras and Grantaire’s case it’s shot two days later, and only then because Courfeyrac had whined at them to do it. 

At the end of the interview, when Bahorel asks if they want to see each other again, they both look at each other. Grantaire taps his fingers restlessly on his knee, he looks unsure. Enjolras is the one to look away first. 

He turns to the camera and says, “Yeah, I’d see him again.”

Grantaire’s smile is all the answer he needs.

\- - - 

At the end of each episode of First Dates there’s always a summary for the audience about whether or not the singles got together, or if they’re off looking for love elsewhere. The pictures used are usually taken from the interview, but in Enjolras and Grantaire’s case they’re followed by other, later pictures from their Facebook and Instagram accounts. 

Grantaire laughs when Floreal tells him what their slide said:

_Grantaire is still seeing plenty of hot, single men in the First Dates Restaurant, where he continues to serve behind the bar._

_But the only one he has eyes for is Enjolras. They have been together for three months, and continue to see each other as often as possible._

_Grantaire assures twitter that #hotblond has finally been laid._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some art for this fic from the wonderfully-talented Apitnobaka [!](http://apitnobaka.tumblr.com/post/150161066312/i-was-thinking-about-enjolras-being-stood-up-on%22,)


End file.
